


Out of Sight

by onward_came_the_meteors



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Awkward Crush, Backstory, Celaena-centric, Confessions, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Angst, Not Canon Compliant, Not Throne-of-Glass Compliant, One Shot, POV Third Person, Pining, Ratings: PG, Romance, Slow Burn, Takes place during book one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onward_came_the_meteors/pseuds/onward_came_the_meteors
Summary: They'd stopped walking, and at first Celaena assumed that it was because they'd finally gotten a far enough distance away from Dorian's admirers, but then she noticed that they had reached a partially occupied table.Partially occupied with a certain princess dressed in silver.With… Nehemia.Nehemia.Were they too close to one of the braziers? That was the only explanation for why Celaena felt like she was being choked with smoke. Or why her face had suddenly gotten hot.---------------------------------------Alternate title: Three Times Celaena and Nehemia Missed an Opportunity and One Time They Did Not
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Nehemia Ytger, Dorian Havilliard/Chaol Westfall (implied)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Out of Sight

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic in this fandom... :O

In the glass palace, there were always eyes on Celaena. 

Eyes of the members of the court, half-lidded like lizards behind the frilled fans that hid gossiping lips, giving way to whispers upon whispers as soon as they thought she was out of earshot.

Eyes of the servants, snatching quick glances like the motes of dust they whisked off of carvings and railings, never daring to look for more than a moment.

Eyes of the kitchen staff, who were always more than happy to fix her up another helping of dessert, but who wouldn't meet her eyes as they handed her a tray. 

Eyes of the soldiers--harder to spot, as their curiosity was as well-trained as their one-two, one-two march across the courtyard, but definitely still there whenever she happened to pass by. 

Eyes black as the dark side of Morath.

Eyes blue as the waters of Skull's Bay.

Eyes green as the banners of Terrasen. 

Old eyes, young eyes, awed eyes, crafty eyes, eyes behind spectacles and veils, eyes blind with age and bright with energy, eyes that were innocent, and eyes that were not so, eyes, eyes, eyes... 

All focused on Celaena Sardothien. 

Or, as they thought, Lillian Gordaina. 

She supposed it was only natural. After all, she wasn't only new to the palace, she was a contender for the position of King's Champion--the only girl, at that--and, despite being a nobody thief from Bellhaven, had caught the eye of the Crown Prince--at least enough to represent him in the tournament. If anyone wanted to assess potential threats in the castle, the smart thing to do would be to keep a close watch on her, the most unorthodox potential Champion. 

It should be expected that in a castle made of glass, there would be people trying to see through it. 

And it wasn't as though Celaena was a stranger to being the center of attention--even though assassinations frequently required stealth, sometimes it was necessary to hide in plain sight. The skills Arobynn had taught her ensured that she knew how to handle a few stares.

And her training had proved true. Mostly.

It wasn't really the staring that bothered her. 

It was who stared back. 

Celaena didn't even know when it had started, which was disturbing in itself, as she prided herself on her powers of observation.

But now it had become too obvious to ignore: whenever Celaena returned the favor of a stare, there was only one person who kept eye contact. 

Out of everyone in this castle, why should it be--

"Celaena?" A voice shook her out of her thoughts. 

Celaena sat upright, careful to keep her elbow from knocking over a nearby stack of books. She'd been stretched out on a cushioned seat by the window, pondering the possible dilemma now set before her. It had been afternoon when she'd sat down, but now the sky outside was tinged with ever-darkening gray. 

"What is it." She regretted her flat tone as soon as she recognized Philippa stepping into the room. The maid's gaze swept around the less-than-neat surroundings before settling on the reclining assassin again.

"I just came to tell you it's dinner-time, if you wanted to get ready." 

"I'm ready now," Celaena said instantly. Her stomach growled in agreement and Philippa chuckled. 

"In that case..." Philippa gestured toward the door, which Celaena bolted through.

Not entirely because of hunger, but because she wasn't sure how much longer she could take sitting alone thinking about this.

And whatever else you wanted to say about the dining hall of the glass palace, it definitely wouldn't make you feel alone.

Celaena had her own dining room included in her chambers, but sometimes she found herself venturing out to the main one, where the rest of the court ate. Not out of a desire to eat with the vast majority of the court, understand, but… well, a select few weren't completely awful. 

"Celaena!" Dorian waved at her almost the second she entered the room. He was standing hemmed in a cluster of full-gowned ladies, and looked relieved at the chance to escape. 

"The company here must truly be bad if you're excited to see me," she remarked, increasing her pace to keep up with Dorian's sudden speed walk. 

"Are you implying the prince dislikes his Champion? Careful, you know how rumors can get passed around in this place." 

"Somehow I don't think that's the only thing that can get passed around in here," she muttered under her breath, casting a glance over her shoulder at the posse of court ladies, who were eyeing Dorian like he was the plate of honey-drenched cakes that had just been set on a nearby table. 

A grin reluctantly pulled at Dorian's face. "That's because of my mother. She's gotten it into her head that eighteen is far too old for a prince to be unmarried." 

Celaena mock-gasped. "Eighteen? Why, you're nearly to your grave." 

"Hilarious. All the eyelash-fluttering is because they're hoping I pick one of them." 

"And will you?" They'd stopped walking, and at first Celaena assumed that it was because they'd finally gotten a far enough distance away from Dorian's admirers, but then she noticed that they had reached a partially occupied table. 

Partially occupied with a certain princess dressed in silver. 

With… Nehemia. 

Nehemia. 

Were they too close to one of the braziers? That was the only explanation for why Celaena felt like she was being choked with smoke. Or why her face had suddenly gotten hot. 

Nehemia had her hair in her usual gold-tipped braids, but the princess of Eyllwe was also wearing a simply gorgeous dress that was silver trimmed with deep amber. She had been making limited conversation with some non-Eyllwe-speaking noble, but he had left to get a drink. Somehow, she didn't look awkward or standoffish sitting by herself, but like a true ruler holding her own court. 

"Hello, Celaena," Nehemia said. "Out of your chambers for dinner?" 

"I wanted some cake," Celaena joked. Or at least, someone who didn't know her might have taken it for a joke. Nehemia--who knew all too well that Celaena was serious--smiled and waved a hand at the empty seats around her. 

"Well, you're welcome to join me if you like." 

Dorian looked between the two women, and Celaena realized they'd been speaking in Eyllwe. 

"She said only extraordinarily attractive people are allowed to sit at this table," Celaena said, settling herself into the seat across from Nehemia--who must have picked up enough of the common tongue to understand, because she laughed--and unfolded her napkin.

Dorian raised his eyebrows. "Lucky for me then," he said cheekily, sitting down. 

"What were you two talking about before?" Nehemia asked, careful yet accented pronunciation. 

"Just my mother trying to handpick a bride for me," Dorian said. He was sitting with his back to the court ladies, and determinedly not looking over his shoulder. 

"She does not realize you do not want one?" 

"It doesn't matter one way or the other: duty, loyalty, all of that… I just always hoped I wouldn't need to marry for political reasons." 

Nehemia nodded slowly. "Does the captain know of this?" 

"Chaol?" Both Celaena and Dorian spoke at once: Celaena with confusion, Dorian with… well… 

"I don't know what Chaol has to do with anything," he said once he'd gotten his voice to flatten into less of a yelp. 

Celaena watched him closely. The prince was fiddling with the salad fork and not making eye contact. This was interesting. 

Nehemia was as innocent as a baby lamb. "You are both good friends." 

"Yes," Dorian agreed. "Good friends." The tines of the fork snagged on his sleeve and he finally put it down. 

Now, Celaena was interested--not the least in how Nehemia seemed to know all about it--but she was also starving, so she loaded up a plate with all her favorite foods--and not a few cakes--laughed, and began to eat. 

The conversation turned from Chaol to the weather, which they agreed was unseasonably windy before gratefully giving up the topic, to some meeting that had gone on earlier that day, to the next of the tasks for the tournament--that Celaena did not want to talk or think about, so that topic was also dropped--to a book it turned out all three of them had recently read (Celaena had found it in the castle library, Dorian had read it years ago, and Nehemia had come across the Eyllwe translation). All of them had eager opinions on it, and this carried them through dinner and dessert until the rest of the room started to disperse and the fires burn low. 

Afterward, Dorian left--"Chaol's on duty by the gardens," they'd mischievously reminded him--and the two women were left to walk down the hallways alone. 

Celaena wasn't sure whether Nehemia was intending to come to her chambers with her, or whether it was implied to be the other way around, or whether they would be parting at the next staircase, but she didn't ask--she could figure it out in time, and she definitely didn't want to seem like she was waiting for Nehemia to leave. 

Not when it felt like she'd been waiting all day for her to arrive. 

"Do you think it's odd?" Nehemia suddenly asked.

Celaena looked at her. They'd been silent for the past few minutes, causing her mind to flurry into what should she say what should she say what should she say. "What's odd?" 

"Prince Dorian hoping he could marry for love." 

The gold in Nehemia's braids gleamed in the torchlight.

"I suppose I've never thought about it," Celaena answered, carefully, carefully. 

One beat. 

Two.

She was going to ask.

"Have--you--ever thought about it?" 

Nehemia looked at her. She clarified. "Marrying who you l--who you want, instead of…" The hundreds and hundreds of reasons. 

"I never used to," Nehemia said. They turned a corner, down into another empty hall. "I always knew I would do anything for my country, for my people and family--even if it meant I couldn't have my own happiness." 

They were almost to Nehemia's chambers.

"You deserve happiness," Celaena blurted. Then instantly cursed herself. What was she, some dream-ridden girl with her head in the clouds? She was Adarlan's Assassin--she'd stopped believing in happy endings a long time ago. She'd just chastised Dorian for voicing the same thing. 

Nehemia reached her door, touching two fingers to the knob. "Thank you, Celaena." The knob turned. "But I have learned to put my duty first." 

The door shut, leaving Celaena in the hall.

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

They had started their daily routine of lessons in the common tongue in the library, but the morning was so bright and clear--when had Celaena last gotten to enjoy a morning like this?--that they only stayed a few minutes before Nehemia suggested going outside, and Celaena jumped at the chance. 

The sky was nearly cloudless, the sun warm against her face and neck--the few parts exposed by her long-sleeved dress--and the gardens were deserted. It was as close to paradise as anything in Rifthold, Celaena thought as she walked beside Nehemia. 

But had she been quiet for too long? Shouldn't she say something? 

"It's a beautiful day," was all she could come up with. What happened to that slick assassin's tongue? 

Fortunately, Nehemia didn't seem to mind. "Yes, it is. It won't be beautiful like this for too much longer, though, will it? I've heard about your snowy winters up here." 

"There won't be lots of snow for a while, but it might start getting cold." Celaena frowned at the thought. She preferred winter from the inside--watching snow fall through a window as she curled up with a good book and box of chocolates, a Yulemas gown hanging in the closet.

A gown she'd wear when infiltrating parties, with daggers up her sleeves and swords strapped to her legs, and the cold wouldn't matter when she escaped by scaling icy rooftops.

Nehemia broke her train of thought. "You do not like the snow?" 

"Oh, of course I do." Celaena stepped to avoid catching her skirt on a protruding thornbush. "Wet shoes and frostbite are my favorite things. Honestly, sometimes I envy you all the way in Eyllwe." 

"Oh, you'd need to experience an Eyllwe summer before you say that," Nehemia warned. "They can be brutal--one year it was so hot that we could not even go outside because whenever anyone tried, they would collapse." 

"Aren't there ways of dealing with it?" 

"Of course, at the palace, but many people simply don't have access to such things. Our palace is designed with a central pool and many windows, so air flows through and cools the rooms, but some people can't pay for homes like that." 

"It's the same way up here," Celaena sighed. "Every year here, you see people in rags huddled on the streets or in huts freezing to death." And that didn't even cover what winter was like in Endovier. "I think I'd prefer the Eyllwe summer over a northern winter." 

"Well, maybe I should bring you home with me in a few months."

Celaena, with all her training and grace, nearly walked into a tree. "What?" 

Nehemia grinned. "If I'm going to endure a winter at Rifthold this year, it seems only fair that you return the favor." 

But she couldn't leave the palace, she was part of this tournament, and by the time it was summer she'd either be dead or working for the king-- 

"Celaena?" Nehemia slowed and peered at her curiously. "You--I was only joking," she said gently. "Perhaps I shouldn't have--" 

"Oh. No. It's all right, of course it's all right." Words were tumbling out of her mouth now, words she didn't know she was saying. "I was just thinking--about what will happen to these gardens once it starts snowing." 

"Oh." Nehemia looked over the fragrant bursts of flowers that lined the walkways. "Yes, it's a shame they can't last forever." 

Silence fell again like a heavy cloud, even though the sky was still a brilliant blue. 

They had done no lessons, and the weather was still perfect, but once they passed the castle doors, they went back inside anyway. 

Again, Celaena walked with Nehemia back to her chambers. 

Stopped at the door.

And watched the princess close it behind her. 

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

Neither of them acknowledged the conversation in the days that passed, not even as the weather took a chilly turn that signaled one of those legendary northern winters to come. 

Despite this, and despite the cold that nipped at every bit of skin not covered by Celaena's jacket and pants, she found herself again walking with Nehemia through the gardens in lieu of language lessons. 

How did she let herself get talked into these things, she mentally grumbled, ignoring the fact that it had been her who--when she just couldn't take another second of stilted conversation and thick tomes of verbs and adjectives--had suggested they go get some fresh air. 

Well, the fresh air had turned out to be quite cold. Another half a degree colder, and Celaena was sure her teeth would have been chattering like a tightly wound clock. 

And the wind--gods, the wind--

She envied Nehemia, or at least what she could see of Nehemia beneath the thick woolen cloak that wrapped up the princess from head to foot. 

Still, she had survived worse. A brisk walk--very, very, brisk if she had any say in it--in gardens exposed to the elements wouldn't kill her. And she couldn't change her mind about being out here in front of Nehemia. Only a truly desperate person would drag her out and in and out and in again like that. 

So she would endure. And shiver. 

"It's quite empty out here," Nehemia noted. True--they were the only living souls among the frost-laced leaves and flowers hiding their heads from the cruel winds. There weren't even any guards--or at least visible ones. 

When Celaena mentioned as much to Nehemia, the princess nodded. "Yes, I believe there is some kind of event happening at the other end of the palace--hasn't the prince told you about it?" 

"Dorian is very selective on what he does or doesn't tell me," Celaena muttered. Yes, she was still wondering how she could have missed the whole development with Chaol--she was usually excellent at spotting such things. It didn't bother her that Dorian hadn't said anything--in his position, it only made sense--but she was slightly irked at herself for not having figured it out until Nehemia said something. 

In some ways, it really explained a lot--and to think, some of the courtiers had been gossiping about a possible romance between her and Dorian. 

"It makes sense, I suppose," Nehemia said, and for a horrible moment, Celaena thought the princess could read her thoughts--before realizing with a relief they were still talking about the "event" that had called the guards away from the gardens. "The prince seems very reluctant on the prospect of his marriage." 

"That's the event?" She didn't think they moved that fast, even in Rifthold…

Nehemia laughed, a clear sound that seemed to momentarily brighten the overcast sky. "No, but apparently the queen has arranged for him to meet with potential brides." 

"I see." She grinned mischievously. "No cause for alarm, then?" 

"Definitely not." They rounded a corner into a section lined with elaborately trimmed hedges, and the princess sobered up. "I have seen shorter betrothals, though." 

Celaena nodded, remembering the stories that had wriggled their way into her ears when she was younger and training in the Assassin's Keep, as closely as it worked with Madame Clarisse and her courtesans. 

"There was a girl who visited Banjali, once," Nehemia said softly. "Yemaya. Her parents were high in court status, so we were encouraged to become friends." 

Celaena said nothing. Just listened.

She got the feeling that Nehemia had never told this to anyone before.

"And I thought we had." Nehemia was far, far, away. "Become friends. What else could the word for it have been, when we spent every moment together, ate at the same table, slept--slept in the same bed?" A quick look at Celaena.

The world was falling apart and rearranging itself again, and Celaena couldn't even speak.

"But Yemaya was betrothed to a man in Leriba." Nehemia closed her eyes. Opened them. "I haven't even seen her in years." 

"There was a girl," Celaena blurted out, and oh gods, maybe she shouldn't have, but she'd never shared this part of her with anyone, not Sam, not Arobynn, and if Nehemia had just given her a piece of her life like a dagger to stab her with… maybe she should turn the dagger on herself. 

Turn it, but twist it… stab the other half of her heart.

"In Bellhaven," she continued, and even as she spoke she was surprised that the words that came out were true. For even though she was Celaena and not Lillian, she had been to Bellhaven, and there had been… well, there had been a girl in a homespun dress and hair like long curls of cedarwood, and a spark that she had stifled. 

She continued her story. "There was a market, and she was selling these awful-smelling fish. I came up to her, and I asked her if the fish were rotten, because if they were, she should throw them back in the sea instead of selling them. And she said--" a choked laugh "--she said she'd throw me into the sea like the rotten fish I was if I didn't shove off." 

"And did you?" 

"No," Celaena breathed. "I said she couldn't tell if I was rotten, not from all the way behind her stand. And she came out, right up to me, and asked if that was better." 

She remembered that, the lack of space between her and the fish-selling girl, the lack of space that had never been between her and anyone who wasn't dead. 

"I said no, you're still too far away. And she took another step, and then I took a step, and we--" She stopped.

"Kissed?" Nehemia asked, her voice hushed under the whistling wind.

"No." Because then Wesley and Harding had signaled her from behind the barrels of beer being sold at another stand, and she'd leapt away from the girl like lightning had struck between them, and the girl's face had dropped in shock, and Celaena's heart had seized, but there wasn't anything to do, because she had a mission. She always had a mission. 

She ended lives. She couldn't have her own. 

Neither Celaena nor Nehemia spoke as they made another loop around the gardens. This time, as the wind picked up, Celaena could not repress her shiver. 

Wordlessly, Nehemia unbuttoned the front of her cloak. Before Celaena could protest, half of it was draped around her shoulders. 

The cloak was certainly big enough for two, and it was long enough that Celaena's whole body was warmed--or maybe that was just being pressed so closely up against Nehemia. 

The princess smelled like lavender perfume. Her skin was warm wherever the two of them brushed against each other, huddled under the same cloak. 

Celaena could hardly make herself breathe. Didn't want to do anything to upset this most delicate of balances, like any second the moment would shatter and the cloak be ripped away. 

But the cloak remained on her back all the way inside. Once they were safely inside the castle, Nehemia gently pulled it off of both of them, and--maybe on purpose, maybe naturally, maybe not--they both took a step away. 

Celaena walked Nehemia to her chambers for a third time.

And for a third time, watched the door shut.

○○○○○○○○○○○○

Celaena had been to libraries and bookshops from Rifthold to the Red Desert, but all of them seemed to have the same useless rules.

For one: there will be certain books you're not allowed to look at, probably because they're more expensive than a carriage filled with diamonds or older and more delicate than your great-great-grandmother on her deathbed. Which was fair enough. She could admit that.

For another: you can't spend four hours pestering the librarian or shop owner with questions about this-or-that rare title, or how many of this foreign poem was in stock, or when the latest book by such-and-such author would be printed. Again, she could understand the reasoning behind it: they had jobs, after all.

But one that she really disliked was the rule against food in the library. How was one supposed to enjoy the latest novel without also enjoying the pleasures of a bucketful of creamy chocolates? 

She'd decided that she simply could not, which was how she had ended up tucked away in a secluded corner of the library, turning pages with one hand and unwrapping candy with the other. So far, the librarian was none the wiser, and she congratulated herself on the success of her plan. 

Until several books fell off a nearby shelf with a loud thunk-thunk-thunk. 

Celaena froze with a piece of chocolate in her mouth. A dozen excuses popped up in her mind, but they all vanished once she looked up and found her own wide eyes mirrored in Nehemia's. 

The princess was standing just as motionless next to the fallen books, which she had evidently just knocked over trying to re-shelve the thick cover in her hand.

Celaena swallowed the chocolate as a silent agreement passed between her and Nehemia.

"I say now! What was that noise?" The old librarian's creaky voice echoed down the aisles of shelves as footsteps began heading towards them. "There better not be anyone making trouble in this library--" 

"Quick!" Nehemia hissed, dropping to her knees and scooping up the books. She shoved them on the shelf as Celaena scooped up all the chocolate in a fold of her skirt. 

"This way!" Celaena guided Nehemia around a corner, to where a broom closet stood slightly ajar between two shelves of atlases. 

The librarian's footsteps were getting closer. 

Nehemia got in the closet first, yanking her skirts in behind her, and Celaena squeezed in next. She grabbed for the handle and pulled the door shut just as the librarian appeared around the shelves. 

Inside the closet, Celaena and Nehemia both held their breath--and she had never been aware of her own breathing like this, pressed up so close to Nehemia that their combined skirts filled the lower half of the closet and their shoulders bumped every time one of them moved. 

She'd been in closer quarters than this on missions before. Plenty of times. For longer amounts of time, too. Arobynn had once made her and Sam crouch on a windowsill together for six hours. Why was she so flustered by being crammed in with Nehemia? 

The footsteps halted in front of the closet, and she decided she could worry about it later.

Celaena had left the door open just a hair so that they could peek through. If she tilted her head just so, she could look through the crack. 

Outside the door, the librarian was squinting around, circling the table where Celaena had been sitting. Finding nothing amiss, he stomped toward the shelves.

Nehemia inhaled not an inch from Celaena's cheek, and Celaena felt her heart begin to pound in a way that had nothing to do with being caught. 

The librarian stopped at the spot where Nehemia had shoved the fallen books back on the shelf and leaned closer, a frown appearing on his wrinkled face. 

Of course--the books were out of order. Celaena silently cursed. 

But the librarian just switched the places of the books and continued on his way, returning to his desk at the front of the library. 

It appeared that Celaena wasn't the only one who knew better than to breathe a sigh of relief and burst open the closet door. She and Nehemia waited, one heartbeat after another, sharing breath in the enclosed space, skin pressed up against skin, for a count of two minutes before she finally deemed it safe to open the door.

Out of necessity, obviously. 

Nehemia's skirts ballooned out of the closet as she spun around with a flushed smile on her face. "We did it!" she mouthed. 

Celaena returned her grin as she shut the closet door behind them. She needed an excuse to turn away from the princess before she noticed the red that had surely bloomed on her cheeks. Hmm--maybe the chocolates were about to drop out of her skirt. Better lean down and fix that. 

Nehemia continued, speaking aloud now, but still hushed. "I can't believe that old lizard became a librarian--what's the point if you don't like letting people enjoy books?" 

"Is that what a librarian does?" Celaena clapped a hand to her mouth in mock horror. "And here I'd thought they were only around to complain or lovingly caress the history volumes when they think no one's looking!" 

Nehemia laughed and cast an eye at Celaena's wrapped-up chocolate stash. "In that case, maybe we ought to leave before he comes back and finds something else to complain about." 

"As though I care what some wrinkled old turtle says," Celaena said. "He can ban me from the library for all I care--it'd just make it more fun to sneak in." 

"Celaena!" Nehemia let out a mock gasp of her own. "Even so," she continued. "Surely this isn't the most comfortable place to read." 

Did the princess mean what Celaena thought she meant? 

Don't panic. Remember: trained assassin.

"Well, you know, a girl gets bored of reading in her own room all the time," she answered. It was remarkable how steady her voice came out. 

"I might know a way to fix that." Nehemia's voice was softer than the clouds outside. 

"Oh--oh?" 

"Perhaps…" 

"You've intrigued me." 

"Perhaps you could accompany me to my rooms instead. For a change of scenery." 

Celaena's mouth went dry, but a coy smile sliced across her lips just the same. "What a wonderful idea, Princess." 

Neither the chocolate nor the books were remembered as the two of them rushed from the library, through the hallways, and up a flight of stairs to Nehemia's rooms. 

And this time--this time--the door closed behind both of them. 

Celaena could hardly think straight--these were Nehemia's rooms, where the princess slept and walked and braided gold into that beautiful hair, and here she was inside them--but she managed to say something about "oh what lovely rooms." 

And they were lovely: larger and fancier than Celaena's own, obviously, with a sweeping canopy bed and elegant tapestries framing the walls--most likely without a secret passage hidden behind them, though--as well as little touches that showed that the princess had lived here. Books stacked neatly on tables or jewelry set aside on the dresser… hints of Nehemia's life that made Celaena feel even more overwhelmed to know that she was here. That she might be a part of Nehemia's life as much as the bed or the books or the jewelry. 

"Is something wrong?" Nehemia's voice broke Celaena out of her daze.

"No, of course not, no." Celaena ran her fingers through a lock of golden hair, brushing it to her ear. She looked around the room again, a knife somehow misplaced into a jewelry box. "I just feel like we shouldn't be here." 

Nehemia stilled, but kept her light tone. "Last time I checked, these were my rooms, and I hardly think anyone's going to question who the princess of Eyllwe has in them." 

"Nehemia…" Celaena breathed, and the name on her tongue felt as precious and delicate as powdered sugar. "You know it's impossible." 

Because Nehemia was… and Celaena wasn't… 

And no matter the feelings that rose between them now, as they stood face to face, only a touch apart… it couldn't last. Who knew if it could even start. 

And the last time Celaena had dared to open her heart… she didn't think she could survive it, daring to think she had everything and then having it torn away from her again. 

"Many things are impossible." Nehemia came closer, half a step--maybe more than half. Celaena felt that if she blinked, her eyelashes would brush against her cheeks. "But much is possible, too…" 

In the glass palace, there were always eyes on Celaena. 

Eyes blacker than the dark side of Morath. 

Eyes blue as the waters of Skull's Bay.

Eyes green as the banners of Terrasen. 

But now, as she tilted her head up the slightest amount, she was met with eyes of the most beautiful shades of brown she had ever seen. 

And then those eyes closed, and so did her own, and her hands found themselves twined in an embrace, and now the last little bit of space between them was gone as their lips met. 

And even in a castle made of glass, there was no one around to see.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
